Entry to the Garden. Justin Aylward

Miriam Bailey remembered how the sound of the car crash became incorporated into the dream she was having that morning.       There were large tire tracks, changing in form from the black skids on the pavement to the deeply imprinted patterns in the wet soil. The smoke from the engine billowed into the humid air while the alarm sounded out in monotonous circles of disquiet. There was also a massive hole where the wall had collapsed, with rocky sediments strewn throughout the neat flowerbed and the occasional…